


and i could have the faintest idea

by earlofcardigans



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlofcardigans/pseuds/earlofcardigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A little piece of you<br/>The little peace in me<br/>Will die [This is not a miracle]<br/>For this is not America</i>
</p><p> </p><p>"I won't die." Natasha doesn't mean to say it. Means to say she can’t die. </p><p>But it's always been the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i could have the faintest idea

"I'm not dying here. On a mission I can't fucking win. In a place where there's nothing but red clay mud and wind chimes."

"You'll die wherever you've been shot the hardest. You know that, Clint. The Midwest can't save you."

"Yeah. And Budapest didn’t kill me."

"Maybe."

He hasn't been hit. She hasn't had to watch him watching himself. There is no blood. 

Her hands are still red. His face is still shut off.

She takes it as a good sign and sits back down, behind and to the left, waits for the one chance she'll have at saving this mission, herself, Clint, their sanity.

"I won't die." Natasha doesn't mean to say it. Means to say she can’t die. 

But it's always been the truth.

"Everyone dies, Tash. Don't do it soon, though, yeah? I don't know how. Well. You're here." Clint never looks at her. It's more comforting that way. Or so one of them chooses to believe.

She watches the sky, the large bird circle the only tree. She watches the red clay. Nothing moves, no cracks are new, nothing bubbles to the surface.

Clint is right, and terribly wrong. For all Natasha knows, she's already been dead and resurrected. For her, there is not home or foreign, this is not a place she will die or be dead. For her there is no America, no Bolivia, no Russia.

There is Clint, small pieces and hard hearts, and nothing under snow that she could imagine.

"Maybe we're already dead."

"I never took you for a sentimental girl, Tash." Clint never looks at her. She knows he's smiling, fast and trippy like the wind. "If we are, though, glad it was with you and under all this pretty pink sky."


End file.
